"Zut! How should I know? Who is it plucks grass, anyway?"
The young policeman seemed to take joy in the rôle of Grand Inquisitor. He smiled a superior smile and moved on a few feet, and then again halted.
"And this—what is this?" he demanded, pointing before him once more.
"You buffoon, you—what game are you playing with me? It is only another hillock of plucked grass, as any fool can see!"
"And this?" The Grand Inquisitor had moved on another couple of yards.
"I shall call it a mountain, an it please you better. The Devil take you and your little hills of grass, Miguel Alvarado!"
"And this?" Once again the policeman with the superior smile had moved on up the hillside. But this time he did not point at any hillock of dead herbage.
"That? Why, that is only a cross made by two sticks that have fallen by chance one upon the other."
"Which way does the longest arm point, Pascual?"
"Straight up and down the slope."